


A Humble Birthday Present

by Winterwolke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Birthday Presents, CBT, Dom!Harry, Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sub!Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 00:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20055313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterwolke/pseuds/Winterwolke
Summary: Harry loves his birthday. True, it took almost two decades before he developed a taste for it, but now he can’t get enough. He loves the cakes especially made for this occasion; he loves the scent of fresh flowers that will flood his house and his office. He loves the feast Mrs Weasley dishes up every year; the home cooked meals, the treacle tart snitches; the biscuits drenched in colourful icing, the firewhiskey served late after dinner. He loves meeting his friends; his extended family, being free of the madness that is the Auror Office, relaxing in his favourite armchair with mundane conversation. But most of all, Harry loves his presents.





	A Humble Birthday Present

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Harry, hope you enjoy your special day ;)
> 
> Thanks to my beta Michaela97, who did a fast and perfect job.

Harry loves his birthday. True, it took almost two decades before he developed a taste for it, but now he can’t get enough. He loves the cakes especially made for this occasion; he loves the scent of fresh flowers that will flood his house and his office. He loves the feast Mrs Weasley dishes up every year; the home cooked meals, the treacle tart snitches; the biscuits drenched in colourful icing, the firewhiskey served late after dinner. He loves meeting his friends; his extended family, being free of the madness that is the Auror Office, relaxing in his favourite armchair with mundane conversation. But most of all, Harry loves his presents.

It’s the 30th of July and he finally has left the Ministry behind, has wished everyone, both important and not so, a nice weekend, and now he’s free for two whole weeks. Being the Saviour of the Wizarding world hasn't got a lot of perks, but getting his holiday in time with his birthday every year is surely his favourite. He has just a few more errands to do, a little more shopping before he can go home and hang up his Auror robes.

Diagon Alley is unsurprisingly empty. In contrast to Muggles, Wizards hate the oppressing summer heat and many shops are already closed up for the day. Flourish and Blotts is dark, as well as the branch of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes since George and Ron have decided to take some time off to be with their families. Eeylops is still open due to the fact that the owls need to be fed daily anyway, so they keep it open throughout the whole year. Gringotts, of course, never closes - the Goblins hate the summer since everyone gets lazy in the sunshine, but closing up equals lost money, and this, the Goblins despise even more. 

A few people greet Harry as he makes his way towards the east end, and he’s glad the hype about his person has died down, because he wouldn’t want to be seen going where he’s headed now. It’s a small alleyway, barely room for three shops per side, and it’s rarely frequented during the day, but that suits Harry just fine.

A bell chimes somewhere in the back as he opens the door. Calliope has redecorated, again, and the walls are draped in red silk. The pillory in the corner, with its black wood, is a strong contrast, an immediate eyecatcher and he wonders how many of those she has sold since she made it the centerpiece of her shop. 

He remembers the delicately carved saltire she displayed last year, exquisite ebony and dragon leather, the leather rubbed with Appetentia for heightened pleasure, more intense orgasms. The potion is forbidden in Britain, but the saltire was made in Spain and it is not illegal to import products made with it. Calliope confided in him she made three years worth of rent just selling this. 

The woman steps to the front counter. She’s as always, a force of nature, over six foot tall, with flowing black hair. She has recently changed her hairstyle, so her hair reached her hips, going from black to fiery red at the tips and it suits her well. Adding to her impressive size she wears murderously high over knee boots made of black nundu-leather and tightly laced in an intricate pattern. If Harry wasn’t bend in every direction and in a very happy relationship he might go for such a fine woman.

As it is, he is only here to pick up his order. Calliope was very helpful with deciding what to get this year and Harry looks forward to give it a go.

“Harry!” 

Her voice is cheerful and smoky, so sexy it makes shivers run down his spine. It’s her special kind of magic - she can make the knees of any gender, and orientation, weak, wake desire where there should be none. Desire sparks through Harry, makes his stomach flutter and he feels a bit guilty that he has this kind of reaction. But that is just Calliope and she has this effect on everybody. 

They shake hands and she prepares a cup of tea. Harry is in a hurry to get going, but that’s another of her habits: she likes to take things slow, let the thrill of anticipation grow until it’s almost unbearable. She doesn’t do it every time he comes in here to purchase something, but always when he really wants to get home. She can play him like a fiddle and he suspects she enjoys this little power play. 

Calliope is a Dominatrix who either can’t let go of the personality or won’t, and she has to dominate the room and her shop at all times. In one of their tea-and-buy sessions she has admitted to love the power she holds over her customers and Harry can understand and accept that. He knows the rush such power brings, the enticement of control. 

Over the course of the next hour they talk about everything and nothing: her plans for the summer; Harry’s receipt for strawberry-cheesecake-cream filled eclairs; her preference of erumpent skin-made switches over normal leather because it stings so good; before she hands over the long, narrow, brown parcel with Harry’s order over, wishing him a happy birthday and closes the shop up right after his arse is out in the alley. 

With a pleased sigh, Harry turns on the spot and Apparates directly into the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. He slowly sets the parcel down, gets out of his Auror robes and puts them on the hook next to an exquisitly tailored cloak. It costs a small fortune, but every time Harry sees it hanging next to his plain old Ministry robes, his heart swells and butterflies are let loose in his belly like the first time he saw it.

He keeps himself still, listens for any sounds in the house and smiles when he hears a faint moan from somewhere above. The walls aren’t thick, but the actual noise has to be quite loud to be heard down here. Harry picks the parcel up and wanders up the stairs to the first floor, stopping right outside the sitting room.

The moan is louder, coming right from inside the door and Harry is pleased. He has been afraid the long hours he had to spend at the office would kill the mood, but apparently all is well. He just stands there for a few minutes, listening, going over his plan for the evening. Everything is prepared and he is ready to get this show on the road.

The lights in the drawing room are dimmed, just some forgotten fairy lights around the fireplace. The curtains are drawn tight, to fend off the summer heat and set the right mood. It’s cosy and comfortable and Harry feels the stress of the Ministry disperse, feels the peace sooth the hurt of everyday life, of criminals running free. Years ago he felt guilty slipping out of his Auror skin so easily, but all he feels now is contentment. He’s here and he enjoys being here. He can worry later, and he will. Just not now.

Harry puts the parcel down on an unused sideboard and settles in his favourite armchair. A fresh glass of firewhisky tells him Kreacher is aware he’s home but decided not to disturb him. The Elf knows their traditions and he knows not to show himself for the next forty-eight hours. 

He takes in the different ornaments, some are centuries old and some were only acquired over the last few years. There’s clutter everywhere, but they both agree they love it as tacky as it can get. An angel in a colourful crochet dress winks at him, wings flapping in excitement. The ornaments have seen their fair share of special traditions and are getting naughty themselves.

A moan brings Harry back to his favourite part of his birthday, the present. He has made himself one just before he left for work this morning and it’s time to open it. He smiles as he sips the whisky, looking at the tightly bound bundle right under a potted palm tree.

The slender, white legs are parted by a spreader bar and decorated with intricate leather strips. They crisscross from ankle to upper thigh where they meet with an equally exciting leather harness. His present has rolled over onto his stomach, to relieve the pressure on his hands bound behind his back. The spreader bar forces him on his knees which in turn highlights the fine, firm arse.

It wiggles back and forth in an almost hypnotic rhythm and Harry sees the enchanted buttplug at work. He has set the sequence before he left, when to vibrate and when to thrust and just now it slowly pushes back and forth, changing the angle every so often, eliciting a moan when it hits that special spot inside his wriggling lover. 

A strap of the leather harness prevents the plug from falling out and it obscenely dents when the plug goes back only to plunge back in a second later. Another moan goes straight to Harry’s groin and he feels himself harden. The feeling is familiar, the anticipation rising, but he denies himself for just a few more minutes.

Instead he watches the perfect backside arch into the pleasure, the bound hands helplessly searching for something to grab, something to hold onto, but there is nothing, just the gradual burning pleasure the plug gives. It’s not enough, not by far, but it keeps the fire going, slowly driving his lover mad. Harry likes himself some good bondage, loves the intricate patterns he can create, loves the attention he can pay to the body under his hands. 

His gaze wanders up, pleased to see the black leather collar. It had taken some time before they used it in their sessions, but now it’s an essential part of their playtime. He knows the collar is soft to the touch, nundu with polar fox lining, comfortable to be worn for hours. The row of silver buckles is charmed to only open at Harry’s will or in case of an emergency. It’s the most obvious claim of ownership and the primal part in him loves it nonetheless.  
He finally reaches the platinum blond hair, silky to the touch and Harry’s fingers itch to run through it, to feel the softness, to smell the ridiculously expensive shampoo. Soon he will do just that, just a few more minutes.

The tumbler of firewhisky is almost empty and Harry lets the last sip of it roll around his tongue, savours the heady flavour of honey and sherry only Glenmorangie has, glad he was introduced to the finer whiskey brands. Just as he sets the tumbler down, his present moans again, this time weaving actual words in it.

“Harry, please!”

Harry saunters over, finally having had enough of just looking. He needs to touch, to taste and devour and he can’t wait any longer. He reaches out, barely touching the blond strands, just enough to let his present know that he is there. He strokes up and down, slowly increasing the pressure and it isn’t long before his fingertips gently scratch and massage. The moan comes again, now with a note of comfort and Harry savours it. 

Before the evening is over, the only moans he will hear are ones of exhaustion and he likes both equally fine. But he knows his lover needs a bit of comfort right now. It isn’t easy to lie on the floor for hours, sexually frustrated, being kept in the game with no possibility of relief.

It’s why they don’t do this often, only on special occasions, but since next year he enters a new and exciting stage of his life (Hermione’s words), they won’t have time to indulge in drawn-out fantasies. 

He reaches around the tight-laced bundle and slowly helps his present to right himself. His knees must hurt, but he doesn’t concern himself with that. Harry has switched from loving husband to Dom just this second and a bit of discomfort never hurt anyone.

The blindfold is damp, soaked by tears of frustration and it conjures a smile on Harry’s face. All these years and he can still elicit this kind of reaction with a bit of prolonged foreplay. But he doesn’t need the blindfold now, and he pulls it away.

Grey eyes blink furiously to focus in the dim light before they find his and Harry falls in love once more with the depth and the sincerity of their expression. It was the first thing that caught his attention all those years ago, after the war, after everything was said and done and Harry was left with no plan in his life. They always broadcast everything so clearly, so openly, vulnerable but strong at the same time. They never once betrayed him, even when words tried to.

“Draco,” he murmurs, before he leans down and captures the soft lips in a delicate kiss. It’s as much a part of their sessions as the collar or any other toy they use. It’s a reassurance for their love, a promise that no matter what is said and done, as soon as the session ends they are Harry and Draco again, devoted to each other.

For now, however, Harry has slipped on his dominant personality, brooking no argument. And he wants to open his present, to unravel the delicious package and ravage the core. He frees the hands, Draco will need them soon.

Their next kiss is the complete opposite. It’s brutal and forceful, aggressive and so hot, Harry has to suppress his own moan. It would be unwise to show his obvious desire so early into the game. He has made Draco wait, he can do his own sweet time of waiting.

His tongue plunders Draco’s mouth, leaving no room for anything else in his lovers mind. He doesn’t tangle his tongue with the other but strokes and rubs, sucking the fresh taste of toothpaste away and replacing it with their mingled essence, something uniquely Harry and uniquely Draco. He withdraws, getting a few puffs of breath in before he attacks again, sucking the full lower lip between his teeth, sometimes biting it just short of drawing blood, then licking at it soothingly.

Draco’s panting harshly by the time they stop, his desire fueled by passionate kisses and the plug still working his hole. Harry hears it vibrate, feels the shudder wracking the slender body in his arms and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

He slowly pulls away, letting Draco sink back on all fours, before he stands and conjures a leather leash, matching the colour of the collar. He hooks it in the small silver-ring on the front and pulls gently, catching Draco’s attention through the haze of stimulation.

His dragon shakes with pleasure, gooseflesh marking his perfect body. His hair is tousled, the perfect state destroyed by Harry’s eager fingers and the dampness of sweat. He’s breathing heavily and Harry can understand why: being pleasured for hours on end without rest can do that to you. He doesn’t have mercy, never has for things like this, and he knows Draco’s limits by heart. 

He tugs harder on the leash, wanting, needing to get started. Draco hates being led like a dog and Harry has dressed him up like one more than once, but today it’s just for the fun of it. He feels the reluctance in the way Draco moves, and as he looks down, he sees the blush covering the usually white neck. His dragon blushes so beautifully, not only do his cheeks heat up, but his whole upper body. It’s a nice contrast to his milky skin and even after all these years, Harry can’t get enough of it.

He leisurely walks the room, around the palm tree, inspecting the boring portrait of some Black ancestor who is asleep most of the time. Everytime he stops Draco has to kneel by his side like the good boy he is, hands clasped behind his back. His knees must be sore and he needs a few seconds to get his balance whenever Harry stops, but the blush doesn’t recede and his breathing is still labored, so it can’t be that bad. And Harry loves the way he moves, the sway of his hips, lewd but so gracious at the same time.

When he finally sits down in his favourite armchair and allows Draco to rest by his side, his patience is frayed thin but he has to withstand the temptation for a few minutes longer. His lover is not yet ready for the next step of their session. So he waits and watches.

Draco relaxes slightly now that he can rest his weight on more than just his knees, his firm ass resting on his heels, his shoulders not as tense as before, and it is the moment when he really lets go and settles into the position that Harry snaps his fingers and the plug picks up its speed and intensity. Draco yelps in an undignified manner and begins to squirm, losing his pose but he knows he’s not allowed to move much and it’s what Harry has waited for. He never plays fair and his lover doesn’t expect him to.

“Draco,” Harry says evenly, like nothing happened at all, a poster boy for calmness. He sees the blush spread and intensify, a lovely pink.

“You have been disobedient. You were a raunchy dragon, weren’t you? You know not to move when you kneel by my side but you did. I have to say, you’ve been disobedient for some days now, mouthing off, not doing what I ask of you. There is a parcel right on the sideboard. I want you to bring it here. You will crawl there, so you can practice some more how an obedient slut behaves, but you may stand up before giving it to me.”

Draco half moans, half breathes a “Yes sir”, turned on by the prospect of more crawling around, presenting his ass to Harry, and, as he moves forward, he swings his hips in a lascivious way, forcing Harry to suppress a moan so he doesn’t give anything away. He’s a sensual creature, his dragon, and he knows how sexy he is, how hot he can get Harry with simple movements, a look, a word, a perfectly placed hand in inconspicuous places.

Draco picks up the parcel, carefully like it’s a delicate glass figurine or a century old heirloom. He comes to a halt in front of Harry, sinking immediately to his knees, holding out the parcel like a tribute to an angry god. He knows he’s in for a rough time and he already tries to placate Harry, to appease the sadist in him. Too bad it’s too late for it. And even if Draco could do something to make it better, Harry has planned this for quite some time now. He will follow through with it, good behaviour notwithstanding.

He opens the parcel still in Draco’s hands and carefully lifts the contents out of the box. He has inspected it in the shop with Calliope, so this is just for show. Draco isn’t allowed to look and his hands tremble slightly, even though the parcel isn’t heavy.

Harry lets his hands slide over the black metal of the humbler. It was a hard decision which one to pick, since there were so many different ones to choose from, but with a bit of help from Calliope he settled on a plain model. Black, smooth metal, curved like a double s-letter, nothing else. He could have picked something archaic or something vicious-looking, a humbler combined with manacles or fitted with a cage, but he doesn’t need all that. Instead he has requested a series of runes he can change for different purposes. They are carved delicately into the metal, glowing faintly silver in their default setting. They’re for later though, for their first time he wants to take it slow.

“Draco,” he says, “look at me.”

Obediently his dragon lifts his eyes, settling them on Harry’s lips. He isn’t allowed to make eye-contact and it isn’t necessary. It doesn’t take long before he fixates on the humbler with a puzzled expression. So he hasn’t got a clue, which suits Harry just fine.

“Since you’ve been a naughty boy, I decided to take you down a notch or two. Your constant nagging and violent fits don’t suit a good sub and I think this might be a good outlet for all that anger and frustration in you. It’s called a humbler and you will get real close with it tonight. Maybe after some quality time you will calm down a bit. If not, we can always play with it again. Let me show you how it’s used.”

Harry gets up from his chair, stepping behind Draco, who hasn’t so much as twitched since he knelt down. He shudders when Harry kneels next to him and grabs his balls, but he doesn’t move otherwise. Harry rolls them in his hand, his grip firm but not painful, not yet anyway. As Draco’s breath hitches, gooseflesh marking his perfect skin, he lets go and unscrews the wing bolts on each side. His dragon flinches when the relatively cold metal meets his bare skin as Harry pulls his balls back behind his legs, forcing him to widen his stance and finally let go of the now useless parcel. 

Draco whimpers when the cold metal encases his balls on both sides, and he certainly feels the pressure around them as Harry fastens the bolts, but he has yet to experience the humbler fully. When everything is tightly in place, Harry lets go of both humbler and balls, and watches Draco’s reaction. 

Almost immediately he frowns at the unknown feeling, the weight restricting his movements. He has yet to find out what it really does, but Harry is glad to help. With only the tips of his fingers he caresses a sensitive spot on Draco’s hips. It’s equally ticklish and arousing and normally Draco would squirm away, trying to escape the sensation.

He tries, but a yelp lets Harry know that the humbler does its work. Draco’s balls are pulled tightly away from his body, held in place by the humbler. Whenever he moves too much - and even the smallest movement is enough - his balls are pulled even farther away. It hurts, plain and simple, an ideal device to ensure only small movements and absolute obedience.

Calliope was delighted when he told her what he wanted to try. She has some experience and she readily described it in vivid pictures, all the pleasure that could be found using a humbler on a sub. Harry can see the appeal now as Draco tries to limit his movements, panting harshly against the pain, but the rosy colour of his arousal hasn’t abated much. He’s a slut for pain in the right dosage, just like Harry is eager to deliver it.

As soon as Draco has himself under control again, Harry resumes to stroke him, light touches that tickle, and Draco tries hard not to squirm too much, he really does, but to no avail. A broken moan erupts from his throat as the pain intensifies and he shakes with the effort to stay still. 

Harry finally stops, but only because he is tired of the teasing. He’s eager for the next step, or steps, of their session. He gets up from his knees, picking up the leash that dangles forgotten from the collar. A slight tug signals Draco to get moving and, like the good sub that he is, he almost immediately begins to crawl forward. 

Harry watches as he stops mid-movement, recognising the mistake he just made. He’s well aware every movement will hurt, but if he wants to go anywhere, Draco needs to make very, very small moves. He learns that lesson quickly, as he shuffles behind Harry, stopping every so often to relieve his bollocks. Harry gladly gives him the time, because he knows Draco hasn’t thought about the struggle that is waiting for him, and he waits with anticipation for the moment he realises that their bedroom is on the second floor and he will have to climb the stairs in this state.

He reaches the stairs long before his dragon and checks for the adjustments. Instead of their normal staircase, there are many more, albeit flatter, steps; the staircase magically expanded to accommodate the changes.  
The regular steps are far too high for Draco to make it, and while Harry loves to inflict pain, he isn’t that twisted. It’s just about adding a little spice to their lives. 

He nods, satisfied with Kreacher’s work, and waits for Draco to catch up. His dragon pants heavily, sweat coating his alabaster skin, but his hard-on is still there, still dripping, so Harry knows he enjoys himself. He bumps into Harry’s leg, startled by the sudden stop, but not gone enough to forget his place. He keeps his eyes on the ground, relieved for the short break. Not for long.

“Draco,” Harry commands, voice firm. “Look up!”

Draco does, and the horrified expression on his face makes Harry’s dick twitch in interest. His arousal has subtly burned the whole time, but he allows himself some comfort and finally unbuttons his pants and lowers the zipper. The relive is instant and he sighs in contentment.

“Please, Sir, please,” Draco’s voice is wrecked by arousal and fear, but he doesn’t dare say ‘no’ to Harry. If all else fails, he can use his safeword, but in their thirteen years together, he only used it three times. They know each other and their limits well enough.

“Don’t worry, Dragon, I made it easier for you. See, those are not our usual stairs. If you make it half-way up, I might even have a reward for you.”

Truthfully it will be a reward for Harry, but his sub is content to serve, so it may as well be for him.

He watches as Draco makes his slow way up, the lead again dangling from his collar and hindering his movements even more. He nearly loses his balance as his hands get tangled up with the soft leather, and the scene is accompanied by moans of intense pain.

Harry watches for another minute or two, before he spells his clothes away, hopefully into the hamper in the laundry room, but he can’t be bothered to care right now. He easily overtakes Draco, who whimpers softly every other step, and settles down, legs spread, his cock proudly pointing at his sub. A wave of his hand summons a cushion, making it comfortable for him to sit and he passes the time by wanking, his movements slow and deliberate, to keep the fire burning.

Draco finally settles on the step below him, panting and sweating, but still ethereally beautiful. His hair is plastered to his neck, wet and dark, but Harry still grabs it firmly and pulls Draco’s head up. He unconsciously licks his lips at the sight of Harry’s cock, but before he is allowed this treat, there is other work to do.

He shuffles forward a bit, then presses Draco’s face into his arse. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, and Draco immediately sets to work. Harry loves his talented tongue and mouth and he gives himself over to the feeling of both of them working his hole.

Draco licks at Harry’s crack like he’s dying for a taste, wet and thorough, alternating it with kitten licks around the rim, teasing and barely there. It’s the only form of power he has over Harry and he revels in it for as long as he is allowed. Usually, Harry will take over and point that clever tongue in the right direction, but not today. 

He feels the moment when Draco gets too enthusiastic and the humbler works his magic. Just like with crawling, Draco’s movements are restricted, and the more he moves, the more it hurts. His tongue falters, but Harry will have none of it. He tightens his grip on the wet strands and forces Draco’s face right back. 

“Make it good and I might even spare you the rest of the stairs,” Harry promises. It’s heady to feel every flinch, every soft puffed-moan against his sensitive skin. And Draco knows how to make it good, even if he is slightly incapacitated right now.

His tongue spears Harry’s rim, dipping inside the tight muscle and it lights his prick on fire. He speeds up his wanking, wondering if he should shoot his load now, quickly realising that if it isn’t now, it will be a long time before he has the chance again. That’s not a reason to rush things, though.

Draco is fucking his tongue in and out of Harry’s hole, moaning from more than just pain. His hands spread Harry’s arse cheeks even more and he dives in, sealing his lips around the rim, sucking wetly. He alternates his licks and his sucking in a steady rhythm, driving Harry slowly insane. When he starts nibbling, Harry can’t hold back anymore and starts moaning alongside his dragon. 

For a long time all that is to hear are different moans of pleasure and pain along with the wet sounds of a sucking mouth and furious wanking. Just before he actually blows his load, Harry janks Draco’s face away from his arse, eliciting more pain from the humbler, but he can’t bring himself to care right now.

He shoves his cock into Draco’s mouth, immediately welcomed by an eager tongue and strong sucking, and he goes deepers, relentlessly fucking his cock into Draco’s throat, disregarding the fact that his harsh movements jostle the trapped bollocks. 

Draco’s eyes are screwed shut, giving himself over to the rough throat fucking and the pain like a good sub, and he can’t be any more beautiful than he is at this moment, when Harry comes with a strangled scream. His sub takes it all, panting harshly through his nose. 

When Harry pulls out, Draco’s voice is wrecked with need.  
“Please, Sir, please, let me come.”

Harry can see how desperate he is, his dick hard and dripping onto the stairs, flushed red with need. They long since abandoned cock rings, as Draco has learned to never come without permission, and it must be quite urgent for him to speak up now. He’s probably seconds away from coming. 

Harry reacts fast, snapping his fingers, and the leash wraps itself around Draco’s cock, squeezing the base and preventing the orgasm with another burst of pain. Draco’s eyes glaze over as he is cheated out of his climax and he cries out in disappointment. His body goes rigid, causing the humbler to inflict more pain, and he collapses into himself, frustrated tears leaking into the dark wood of the steps.  
It’s a mesmerising display and Harry is pleased beyond measure. 

He strokes the sweat-soaked hair, love evident in every movement. It’s not uncommon for him to break character during their sessions for a minute or two, especially when he makes Draco suffer fiercely, but his dragon is always too far gone to notice. As soon as Draco overcomes his desperation, he slips back into his role as Dom.

“You did good,” he praises his sub, his thumb wiping away one of the tears. “You did really good, Draco. I’m proud of you. Now, I think I promised to spare you the stairs and you earned it.”

Another snap of his fingers and Draco is lifted into the air. Usually, Harry would carry him in his arms, but with the humbler still trapping Draco’s balls, it would be painful. Maybe so much so that Draco would likely come after a few steps, pain slut that he is. Harry won’t risk it.

While his sub floats into the bedroom, Harry rightens the staircase and mentally prepares for the next part of their session. He smiles, thinking about all the things he has planned for today and realises, again, how much he loves his birthday.

**Author's Note:**

> I've worked on this piece since before Christmas, and actually wanted to post (and gift it) for the occassion, but I couldn't finish in time and said person prefered to get lost forever (you were my Drarry BFF and I thought we had something special!?), so now it's Harry's present and I hope he - and you, dear readers - like it.


End file.
